Shameless
by DoceoPercepto
Summary: Title as reference to my utter lack of shame for this thing. Magolor/Lor Starcutter! GO DOWN WITH THE SHIP As per request by bad influences. Read at your own risk.


Wasn't it inevitable in the end?

For so long, so painfully long, he'd devised this one plan. His entire _life_ had become the plan, until it distorted into more than just a plan, until it was fully transformed from plan to obsession, from obsession to the only meaning in his life.

Wasn't it inevitable? _No, no I never anticipated this, I couldn't have imagined…_

No matter his dedication or obsession, he had never dreamed he could foster something like this. Something so disgusting, so-

Nono it wasn't disgusting, it was pure, it was- Shuddering, Magolor shook his head against the tears.

"I'm sorry I'msosorrysosorry," he pleaded aloud, "I didn't mean that I'msorry, you aren't disgusting. Youaren't."

_You're the only thing that listens._

_Please I'm sorry._

With trembling fingers, Magolor affectionately traced the lurid letters that adorned his Starcutter's keyboard.

Beneath the touch he felt sentience, a real, true mind. The Lor knew, it _had_ to know, didn't it know everything about him? They'd been together for so long, now. It knew the plan as he had carefully explained, it knew the words he whispered to it when he lost himself, and it knew the dreams he woke from, gasping with vestigial emotions both sordid and thrilling.

When he felt the keyboard warm beneath his fingers, as if in a delicate lover's greeting, his eyes fluttered shut in silent ecstasy. _It knows,_ his heart sang. His mind punished him for his unchecked pleasure.

_But it knows! Maybe it even-_

_No. It is a ship, it can't feel-_

Because this could not be normal, there was no _realm_ in the stars, there was no _world_ distant or near where this was _normal_.

"Lor?" he whispered into the humming air, as though in subtle echo of his own name.

Both hands on the control board now, imploring, needy. He gazed up at the black screen. In his ears the engines quietly hummed on, always there, always against his skin and clothing, always seeming to ask permission for some private-

_No you're hallucinating, it's a ship. Stop. Stop now._

"Lor?" he breathed again. "Are you…?"

There. _With me_. Wanting._ This is sick; this is not right._

Magolor swallowed the thick saliva that had conglomerated in his mouth and throat. His skin felt too hot, his clothes too sticky. His heart pounded treacherously.

Something shifted above him and Magolor tensed – but he wouldn't look up, no he wouldn't look up because he wouldn't be rude and he didn't want to make any move that would-

"Lor?" he spoke, one last time calling out in need. "Please… I need help." More tears, hot against his flushed cheeks. His teeth gritted together and he screwed his eyes shut. Need. Want. Desire. "P-please help me," he whimpered. "Y-you can have m-me."

The sound of shifting wires as something metallic unfurled from the ceiling. He tensed in preparation, unknowing. Sudden fear snared his heart; what if his ship misunderstood him? What if… what if it hurt him?

He flinched when the wires, silvery and cool, slipped around his waist; but his fear was for naught. Its metal embrace was at once gentle and tender; in every way cautious of a body so much frailer than the Lor's own. There it paused, uncertain. In helpless plea, Magolor begged, "please. Please, I'm ready."

With this spoken, the wires nudged at the hem of his shirt; their inquisitive tips snuck up beneath the fabric and twined around his torso. Its chill touch was electric against his overheated skin, both soothing and stimulating, and insatiable in its desire to reach every inch of him.

From his waist and chest it spread, around his throat, across his back. Shivering, Magolor spread his legs, and the wires slithered down to twine around his thighs.

Then, only then did he relinquish control entirely. Magolor's teeth wrenched apart into a strangled sound that he refused to call a moan. Nearly against his will he bent double over the control board, his hands scrabbling over the keyboard, and in ragged breaths he urged the Lor on, he urged his Lor on, because no matter how wrong it was, he needed it, he needed his ship and somewhere in his mind he was certain, he just knew, it had to need him too.


End file.
